mental disturbance
by tatty ted
Summary: She doesn't want to remember. - —Roisin/Mike.


**jottings** — set during and after the episode, _the lovers. _

* * *

"The power of watching life diminish knowing you could, if you wanted, relight it. Like a candle."

His words make her sick to her stomach and she has to leave the room. She runs to the bathroom only to empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet. His eyes—so cold. He shows no remorse for what he's done. He's satisfied with his killings, he enjoyed watching them suffer.

Oh fuck. She throws up again and closes her eyes.

Bones. Skeletons. That's all she sees. Children and adults starved to death, left to rot. The smell. The smell was horrendous. It stuck to her, overpowered her so much. Sure, she'd seen some pretty horrific things in her time but this, this had to be the worst.

She leans against the side of the cubicle and begins to cry. Sobs escape her broken body and she hears footsteps towards the door of the toilet cubicle and a soft knock.

"Roisin?" Mike calls, he heard her being sick the minute he stepped into the bathroom.

"Go away." She tells him because she wants to be left alone. He doesn't leave her alone. What does she expect? Mike Walker never did as he was told, especially not where Roisin was concerned. She leans over to flush the chain and stands up.

She unlocks the cubicle door and steps out. As she does, he takes one look at her and pulls her into a hug. She begins to cry into his shoulder, his hand rubbing her back whispering soothing words to her like, it's going to be okay.

"It's — it's my fault."

"Don't blame yourself Roisin, you did everything you could."

"Not enough." She whispered back before feeling sick again. She turned around, dropped to her knees and threw up for a third time. He knelt down beside her and gently rubbed her back as she heaved and heaved, nothing left in her stomach to throw up.

"All better?" He asked and she nodded.

/

Bones. Skeletons. Death everywhere.

She lies in bed, twiddling her fingers as he sleeps beside her. She can't sleep. Every time she closes her eyes it's the same.

Bones. Skeletons. Death everywhere.

She gets out of bed and heads to the living room. His packet of cigarettes are on the table and she picks them up, opens one and takes one out. She used to smoke, way back in her younger days. She quit after her twenty-eighth birthday but now she found the temptation coming back.

She took the packet and his lighter and sat on the doorstep. She put the cigarette in her mouth and lit it up. As she inhaled the smoke, she began to cough and splutter. She inhaled the cigarette smoke again and this time she didn't cough.

She stared at the step she was sat on until a figure sat down beside her, "Aren't you cold?"

She sucks on the cigarette, blows out the smoke and answers, "No."

They're both silent, unsure what to say to the other until Mike spokes the cigarette, "I didn't know you smoked."

"I quit when I was twenty-eight, I just—I just needed something."

"Why don't you talk to me?"

"About what?" She answers back sharply before she stubs out the cigarette beside her, "There's nothing to talk about."

/

She goes to move but he grabs her wrist, "Scream at me, do whatever you want. Just don't push me away, please Roisin."

She doesn't want to talk. Well, she would if she understood but she doesn't. Whenever she closes her eyes, it's them. The victims. They haunt her. It makes her scared. Fearful that he's not going to be brought to justice for his crimes. That voice, in the back of her mind telling her it was her fault.

How would he understand that? Snatching her arm away, she said she was going to sleep on the sofa, threw his cigarettes back at him and went back into the house. Grabbing the blanket and the pillow from the spare bedroom, she made up the sofa and lay down.

And waited for sleep to come to her.

/

It came to her eventually, only for it to be interrupted by a nightmare. She woke up in a cold sweat, the blanket wrapped around her, screaming at the top of her voice. Realising it was just a nightmare, she tried to regain control of her breathing.

Mike, woken by Roisin's terrified screams, ran into the living room to find Roisin shaking and crying uncontrollably. He sat down beside her and pulled her into a hug, "Ssh, it's okay. It's only a nightmare."

"She was—she was trying to kill me."

"Who?"

"Susan." She whispered, her head buried into his chest; "She said—it was my fault—my fault that she's dead."

He kissed the top of her head and told her not to be silly. Susan was dead. Susan couldn't hurt her. He stayed in that position, her head on his chest until she fell asleep. He didn't move until it was early morning and he gently repositioned her on the sofa, tucked her up and left.

He hoped, one day, she'd trust him enough to speak to him. To tell him exactly what was going through her mind.

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**a/n: **i left the fandom for a while and tonight, i rewatched the lovers. if you enjoy reading, please leave me a review. thank you (:


End file.
